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by NavyChaos
Summary: 'The virus was out of control. It decimated us. Life is still a fight for survival. I always wished for escape, but it was nothing like I had dreamed.' A first person recount of a world of terrifying creatures, war and the dark secrets behind it all.
1. History

Hey everyone. I'm new around here and this is my first shot at a fiction after reading a bunch of others and being inspired to try my hand. If you decide to give it a chance, I hope you find something you like and enjoy reading as much as I enjoy writing. Now, without further adieu...

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><p><em><strong>Pok<strong>é<strong>mon**_

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_**NavyChaos**_

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><p><strong>Prologue: History<strong>

When you were a kid, what did you dream of?

Did you imagine yourself growing up to become the world's greatest chef? Maybe you were going to be the very best Trainer or Coordinator. Maybe you just wanted to be like your mom or dad. Normal ambitions for a young person, a bit average but there's nothing wrong with that. Do you want to know what I dreamt of? Escape. Escape from this damn world and all of the hurt and pain that goes along with living in it. Ironically, much to my own chagrin my wish for escape was granted. I never thought I'd give anything to take it back.

By the time I was born, the fighting had consumed not only most of the nation, but most of the world. I should count myself lucky I can still say I'm among the living, but every now and then I find my thoughts drifting to the sweet relief of death's icy grasp. Things would be easier that way. Hell, if I just knew why I was spared it would be easier.

In the twenty-five years that have passed between when everything started and now, not a single person knows just what got us to where we are now. Sure, there are whispers here and there from conspirators of the corruption of the Elite's, as well as some long dead organization by the name of Rocket tinkering with things that they couldn't control, but like most things they are to be taken with a grain of salt.

The popular idea, if you even want to call it that, defaults to that of a series of unknown terrorist attacks that struck the nation all those years ago. It was never discovered who committed the act. No one ever had the chance to investigate. By then we were far too preoccupied.

Twenty-five years ago, over the course of two weeks, various large scale burglaries were committed across the regions. Saffron, Kanto; Goldenrod, Johto; and Mossdeep, Hoenn. Always the scientific center of the region, and always with no credible evidence leading to a culprit. Police investigated, but not once could they find even a hint of a print or scent or anything to link any one person or organization to the break ins. As it turns out, they never got the chance.

In that same year, a virus like no other was released onto the unsuspecting populace of the world. Of course, when it first hit, people paid no mind to it. Doctors assumed it was just some type of strange mutation of the common flu and that it was only a seasonal problem. Hell, they couldn't have been more off the mark. The signs of infection were small at first, even negligible: patients found themselves with symptoms ranging from itchiness to congestion accompanied by a bad fever. Over a few weeks however, things progressed, and the people who had shown only small effects at the onset of infection began to develop worse and worse symptoms.

The itching which had until then been a mere annoyance, erupted into puss filled lesions and the fever's, which at most times had been bearable, rose to the point of causing severe brain damage. Many were hospitalized. Many died. Quarantines were finally put into effect, though by then the virus was everywhere. As if that wasn't enough, the biggest change had yet to come. Less than two months before the virus had made itself known to the world. In less time than it that it made the jump. Suddenly the thing which had been ravaging the human race was attacking everything. The formerly immune Pokémon were susceptible, and once again the world found itself unprepared for the threat posed against it.

As with humans, at first it was hard to decipher between infected and non-infected individuals. Contrary to the negative effects humankind developed, Pokémon actually seemed to benefit from the perceived illness. They began to grow faster and stronger over a shorter period of time and with less training than if they had contracted the Pokérus. Alas, as with previous cases, it wasn't long before things spiraled out of control. Oddly the Pokémon continued to keep the positive traits of infection, only amplified to a scale greater than anyone had previously thought possible. Each individual seemingly developed an abnormal type of cancer which originated inside of them and eventually caused them to lose control of their abilities. Fire Pokémon were scorched to death from the inside out by the heat of their own flames. Water Pokémon drowned from the same compound they'd called home, irrelevant of the fact that their gills could filter the oxygen out of it. Psychic Pokémon had their very being crushed by the raw, unrestrained power of their mind. You get the picture. Communication to the outside world was cut off soon after. All we knew was that our nation was collapsing and everyone was helpless to sit by and watch. It wasn't long before things turned into a power struggle.

Out of fear, towns and cities began to rally their surviving trainers and Pokémon to wage war to see who would control what. People destroyed people. People destroyed Pokémon. Pokémon destroyed anything. Everything was fair game and we were truly in a brutal era. When the dust settled ten years after it had all begun, everyone was on the defensive and no one was willing to compromise. We barely noticed that the virus that had started it all had up and disappeared. Maybe everyone who was left was immune. Maybe the virus was just waiting for a better time to strike.

Nowadays the fighting still continues. It's rarer now, but there are still roaming camps of bandits and poachers who live to rape and pillage those of us who are trying to rebuild. As if that's not bad enough, territory, resources, goddamn anything and everything is a fair enough reason to initiate an attack. Camps, as we refer to our towns and cities now, all have a loose form of government more similar to military structure than anything else. While other cities have their gym leaders as head, our leader of the camp, essentially our general is the oldest among us. An ex-trainer who lost all of his Pokémon in the pandemic, he tells us what to do, how to do it and he's the one who deals out punishment if we fail.

His immediate inferior's may as well have been our captain's. They ran the everyday operations of the camps, rationing food and water, overseeing training routines and looking for standouts they could use. If you really have to classify me among those kinds of people, your best bet is probably Sergeant.

For the sake of protection, preparation and safety, each camp has a faction that they've trained since childhood to be their protectors, myself among them. I was one of those stand outs the captain's look for. Ironically, as an orphan forced into making my own way of life since I'd wandered into Azalea at age five, the same thing that prompted my wish to leave was the same thing which drove me to stand out: the need for a chance at a real life. I've developed since then. I am skilled in over twelve styles of hand to hand combat, I've been trained to handle weapons ranging from the small bowie knife I was assigned almost seven years ago up to and including the crossbows we were forced to use against the yearly Beedrill swarms and I'm a natural strategist, born and bred. Azalea is my home and yesterday, the day of my seventeenth birthday I was set to be "promoted" and receive a Pokémon to train as a camp guardian. It was a coincidence that my promotion and my birth date happened to fall on the same day. It was a tragedy that I wasn't there to help when everyone needed me most.

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><p>Well there you have it. I'm really not sure what to say so let me know what you think! Later.<p>

~NC


	2. Rules

Hey everyone. Well, here's chapter two, freshly written and ready for posting. Enjoy, and if you feel up to it drop a review, after all what could it hurt?

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><p><em><strong><strong>Pok<strong>é<strong>mon****_

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_**Rules**_

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><p>I awoke to the roar of thunder booming overhead, my bed frame threatening to crumble into a heap of sheet metal under the power of the sound waves that reverberated against the frame and into the concrete floor below. Sighing at the prospect of having to spend yet another forgettable day in the mud, I shot a glance at the nearby window and was surprised to see that rain had yet to descend from the skies above, though the dark grey clouds that floated ominously above the camp didn't do much to dissuade the thought. I took a rare moment to inhale and stretch, knowing it was probably going to be the last relaxing breath I'd get to allow myself for awhile.<p>

The everyday duties of a protector weren't exactly "hard". Assuming you weren't under attack or in charge of either a scouting or resource gathering mission, really it was just a lot of sitting around and making sure that everybody else was taking care of what they needed to around camp. The everyday duties of a protector newly in charge of a Pokémon however, well those are a whole different story.

Contrary to what you might imagine, Pokémon aren't just mindless creatures who come to terms with their imprisonment on a whim. Most of them are beasts of a most ferocious nature, and though they can be taught to be commanded, the idea of a freshly captured Pokémon obeying straight after capture is ludicrous. Even the Pokémon the starting trainers are given to work with, despite their far easier trainability in comparison to those fully grown in the wild, were prone to challenge their trainer to see what they could and could not do. It's really almost like dealing with a child. A very wild, deadly strong, dangerous child.

Like just about everything else in the world, training is a simple game of push and pull. Give and take. Action, reaction. One tells the other what to do; the other decides which course of action suits their fancy. Of course there are exceptions, but the general rule of thumb is until you fully trust your Pokémon with the guardianship of your own life, you don't risk the lives of others if you can help it.

A few years ago, two of our men with six months on and half a team each were sent to escort a small group on a trip to bring back some timber for the camp to build with. The distance between our camp and the rampant growth of the nearby forest was already close enough for comfort and at the point our barricades hardly did enough to ward away invaders. It was supposed to be routine, especially since the two Pokéwielder's were top notch. They left at early noon when most of the bug Pokémon were expected to be asleep, and they had orders to be back no later than sun down. When they failed to arrive at the given time, a search party was sent in after them.

What we found left of our campmates was brutally shredded apart and lay strewn across the inner layers of the forest. We managed to find one survivor, although he too was wounded to the point of euthanasia being the only fair option. Before his death he'd managed to recount the tale of their ill fated journey. They'd gone in the same as any time before, one protector in front and one in the back. Standard. They'd been halfway through their work when the man said he'd heard a scream the likes of which he hadn't before. Before he'd even a chance to turn his head the Ariados had run one of his mates right through, its poisonous stinger injecting venom straight into the wound to melt him painfully from the inside out. The group had somehow wandered right into the middle of one of the major sections we've since documented as a nesting sight.

The trainer's were quick to act and ordered for the protection of everybody else, at first successful in their endeavor until a half a dozen more of the fucking crawlers showed up, enticed by the scent of blood wafting through the surroundings. At the sight of their enemies growing numbers, the trainers' Pokémon panicked and fled into the deep recesses of the forest, no doubt wandering closer to their own demise. Since then, anyone trusted with a Pokémon had learned that to train was to survive and to survive was to keep the oath they'd sworn the moment they'd accepted their Pokéballs.

As my clouded head began to defog, I noticed that on my left the three others I'd shared these particular barracks with over the past week were still sound asleep.

"Fuck off" I thought, my tone full of venom despite the fact that I was the only one capable of hearing it. The bastard's didn't have to deal with this shitty frame, another mark to add to the list of things I had against them.

I rose silently after a moment or so more and further stretched myself, my muscles tight and sore from the beating I'd taken as an "initiation ritual" roughly two nights before, from two of the same assholes who lay sound asleep beside me. My gaze momentarily found itself drawn to the six inch blade I'd holstered to the side of my bed. I'd been given the bowie knife seven years ago today, proof of my acceptance into the future elite trusted to guard the camp. Since then, whenever I'd considered just up and leaving the settlement, it was there to remind me of my purpose.

I loved that knife. Six inches of sickle ended Damascus steel born of the flame of an Arcanine, attached to a hilt carved of solid oak burnt black and glossed by the aforementioned fire. A small smile crept onto my face as I briefly explored the near endless possibilities before finally brushing the thought aside and reattaching the knife's holster to its proper position on my belt against my right thigh. For the time being I was pleased with the fact that my fighting skills were far superior to my roommates', and this morning, if only out of pity, they'd be spared having to deal with them.

A quick shirt change and a few minutes of messing with my boots later I took my leave from our shared shelter and approached the exit of the actual building itself. As I continued down the narrow hallway, the door ahead of me opened and I was confronted with the same man who had presented me my bowie seven years earlier.

Captain Woodruff had this strange way about him. He emanated superiority, and when you were around him it was like there was a measureable change in the air pressure, as if somehow things around you got heavier (although it's more than possible that those were my own nerves). At thirty five, he was one of the older men in charge of the camp, but you wouldn't know it by looking at him.

The man stood approximately 6 feet tall, and for his age, was impressively well muscled. He dwarfed me by a good four inches and his long curly light brown hair was a big contrast to my dark, straight cut appearance. It was rare to see him inside the camp, although he appeared no different today than any other, dressed in standard camo pants and a black T like the rest of us. Really, the single distinguishing feature I could even point out was the large scar that adorned his left arm.

The thing was a long and thick gash mark which started at the base of his shoulder and wound its way to his wrist. Supposedly received in a knife fight against a Sneasel seeking revenge for the murder of its trainer, the same blades used to inflict the wound had since been used as his personal knives, a reminder of his domination over one of the most deadly of Johto's monsters. Closing the gap between us, the Captain folded his arms and smirked as I fumbled to straighten myself and acknowledge his presence.

"Sir," I hastily spit out while placing my hands behind my back.

"Permission to ask your reason for early arrival?" I inquired.

"Permission granted, but drop the formalities"

His face remained etched in stone and though my arms dropped to relax at my side, the familiar feeling of heaviness that I hadn't been subjected to in a long time hadn't failed to make itself known.

"It's time to get going. You're to report to the edge of Viridian Forest for your test," he instructed, a slight twitch in his cheek.

"Test?"

I was confused. Never before had I heard mention of any "test", and the smirk that graced his face immediately after I asked him wasn't helping to ease my apprehensiveness either.

"You didn't think you would just up and receive a Pokémon, did you?"

He raised his eyebrow, his blue eyes betraying his dark stare that immediately shut down any line of questioning I'd had in mind.

Immediately I became aware of how little I knew about the actual structure of the place I'd been calling home for ten years. I mean, I knew the general hierarchy and obviously who reported to whom, but not once over twelve years did I concern myself with the affairs of the trainers. There were only a handful of others, and most of them were cruel and obnoxious to the point of me wanting nothing to do with the lot. Hell, quite honestly I was disgusted that I was going to have to force myself to congregate with them. My mind was swarming with various scenarios of what I was about to face when the Captain's voice broke through and brought me back to my senses. Not bothering to absorb what he said, I simply stared back into his cold glance and nodded.

"Viridian Forest, sir."

Less than twenty minutes after my brief meeting with Woodruff I found myself packing my rucksack for the ensuing task. Despite the vague information given to me to bring my knife and whatever else I thought could be useful along, I'd decided that bringing everything was more useful than forgetting something; I wasn't going to fuck up because I hadn't been thorough enough. An extra pair of socks, a t-shirt, a small aid kit, some bullshit snacks I hadn't eaten the last time I was assigned to help an escort into the forest. Nothing major, but this way I figured I had my bases covered well enough.

Once that was all squared away, I took a moment to double check that everyone else was still asleep before kneeling down against my bed and grasping under the mattress for the only thing I treasured enough to hide. It took only a moment before my hand settled on it, and the second it did it was unmistakable. Smooth. Warm. I withdrew my hand and took a moment to appreciate the rarity of the Firestone I was holding onto before standing up and slipping it into my pocket. This particular stone had been the result of many hours spent digging in the old well to the East of town. It was hardly a dangerous place anymore; aside from a few Pokémon who occasionally snuck in, everything else had been driven out long ago to make sure that the water the well produced was always clean and easily available.

With everything ready to set out, I slung the pack around from its resting spot on top of the sheets and slipped my arms inside the restraints before tightening them to hold everything firmly against my back. Taking a moment to adapt to the extra weight, I mentally crossed my fingers before glancing toward the window. No rain. At least I had that.

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><p>And with that, Chapter 2 comes to a close. I originally planned to have Chapter's 2 and 3 be one large combination but I felt it would read better if I got a little more backstory out of the way now so that future chapters can flow more smoothly.<p>

~NC


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